Now, time line wise, this story is all messed up but I'd really just like some feedback about the writing itself. And please, don't tear it apart as I'm rather proud of myself for finishing this one.
The biggest issue right now for it is my tenses (I hate tenses) and emotion. There should be much more and I'm not sure where to put it or how to show it, if that makes any sense. So...yeah.
EDIT: Below is the latest update of it, using most mistakes found by everyone so far.
Mark
My name is Marc Fletcher, and I am HIV positive. Or, I was, I should say. I now have full blown AIDS and am sitting outside the Wendy's Drive-thru holding a cardboard sign.
It is winter.
I worked at a restaurant by the name of Jimmy's. My boss was a close family friend. The restaurant, I've heard, was named after his father's father. I can respect that, for I was named after my ol' man, and he was named after his. My full name is Marc Fletcher the third; however, I regret to inform you that their will not be a fourth, nor fifth, nor sixth. I am forty-two and I am sitting on the curb of the Wendy's drive-thru with no plan for life or what very little future I have.
And it is not my fault.
Jimmy's was a nice restaurant. I say 'was' because Jimmy's was eventually sold and made into a fancy joint for those stuck-up nose-in-the-air folk with high cheek bones. It was a nice joint; sometimes loud, sometimes quiet but always comfortable. Folks could relax there, not with the worry of being all fancy and the like. A man said something mean to his wife; he took her here, bought her dinner, and said he was sorry. A lady wants to come in and not be bothered, she can have a nice coffee and read her book or maybe join in some of the conversation around her. Everybody knew everybody at Jimmy's, even if they'd never laid eyes on one another before.
We had the regulars and the not-so-regulars and the customers we hated but had to serve and the little kids who came in yelling and screaming. Best job in the world if you asked me. Wish I could have worked there for the rest of my life, got paid crap, but I was happy. I was actually happy to go to work, something I was able to say that none of my buddies had ever been able to. Hell, I even liked the navy blue apron I wore. I was a popular guy too, knew most everybody in our small town. Everybody liked me and I liked most everybody. And say that a guy's not feeling so hot, he'd say, "Hey, let's go see Marc at Jimmy's". Then they'd have a drink or two and I'd serve them some food and sneak an extra side of fries.
I had it made. I was in my senior year of high school, ahead of the curriculum and left at twelve every day for Jimmy's with the aroma of fresh fries and coffee already filling my nostrils. Then they found out.
Everybody did.
I find that there is a disadvantage to knowing everyone in town and that's that everybody in town knows you, knows your friends, knows your parents. Everything. I was working a fast night. Place was packed, but not rushed - part of the reason why I loved Jimmy's. So a long-time, childhood buddy of mine dropped by with a girl on each arm, they were real mints. Good ol' Danny, the ladies man, the stud.
"Hey you three, how are ya'?" I asked them with my winning smile. I leaned over the table slightly in my navy blue, Jimmy's apron, my polished name tag, glinting off the chandelier: Mark. Misspelled…again. I've had to deal with that my whole life. I hate it when people spell it Mark. I mean, what am I? The line left by a pencil, a target you fire at? No, Marc with a C, is my name.
"Hey Marc with a C, what's goin' on?" Danny greeted me. I told him it's going good. The two girls giggled as I placed some silverware on the table, my eyes on the one closest to me. She was cute, green eyes, short, tawny hair, and freckles on her cheeks. Personally I love freckles on a girl; shows they're not plastic.
Danny winked at me and discreetly lifted up his menu to cover his lips as he mouthed, "Hot stuff." I grinned and purposely reached across the table to set down a fork and spoon, my arm brushing the chick's collar bone. I winked at her, causing her to blush and unleash another chorus of giggling, not fake or annoying, but an innocent giggle; cute. She was maybe a sophomore or junior. I really dug her.
"Can I get you ladies something to drink?" I asked.
"Two ice teas for us, please," she murmured. Her friend whispered something to her that reawakened the fading blush on her cheeks, now a deep scarlet. "Shut up Murrieta!" she hissed in fear that I had heard. I smiled. Danny looked disappointed; I had a feeling he was hoping they would have ordered some hard drinks.
"Eh, the usual for me Marc," Danny said with a relaxed sigh.
"You don't have a usual Danny," I chuckled.
"Well, hell Marc! I got paid today, gimme' some booze." I waited on some other customers first as it was a busy night - I knew that Danny wouldn't mind too much. No more than two minutes later, I had served the drinks, and no more than ten minutes and three drinks later, Danny was drunk.
I should have known, right then.
"Maaaaarrrc, eh? Marc! Wha-where? Ha, ha! Wherayou uh goin' Buh...Buddy?" he babbled a bit too loudly, flailing his arms about. He drew some attention. The girls looked a little unsure of themselves but couldn't help but giggle at that sick, puppy-dog grin of his. I felt a bit sorry for my gal - the one with freckles - I think Danny had given her a swig of his beer. She looked a little green.
"Ha-hey! Mmmmarc! Huh, ha. Dat's afuh-ny name, Maaarcuh," he pronounced my name slowly, picking out each syllable, his words slurring together. I turned around and told him to take it easy.
"Ya know Marr-cuh. Hab I told you 'ow much I love you lately…?" he asked me, his eyes dull, unfocused. I laughed as was expected of me but felt a foreboding feeling in my gut while Danny drew more and more attention to himself with his drunken antics. The boss gave me a dirty look. A look that meant business.
"'Ow many y-years, Marc? Hab we been uh…friends?"
"Six, Danny," I said as I picked up one of Danny's empty bottles. My girl ogled at me sympathetically and I flushed slightly, "Come on Danny, I'll drive you home."
"I…I l-love you Maaarcuh!" he blubbered, "Eben, eben if you got dat bad thing -"
I stopped, mid reach for another of Danny's bottles. My body wouldn't react, and I was suddenly aware that everything was silent.
"-eben, if you…you hab that di-sease-"
My eyes widened, people stared. I felt far too hot. My heart pounded in my head. I was about to reach out to Danny, to stop him, to punch him, to shut him up, but then¬ -
"-eben if you hab AIDS."
The bottle in my hand crashed to floor, shattering. I didn't feel the glass cut my shins, only heard the recurring words over and over again as if convince myself I had imagined them.
Now his voice was slurred but there was no mistaking what he said. Somehow I had expected this, and yet I didn't stop him. I had been frozen. I felt faint. But mostly I was shocked…shocked and betrayed. My girl looked horror-stricken. People looked away, out the window or at their food. Some gawked openly at me. Humiliation. This was how the dweebs at school had felt every day when they were shoved in their lockers. All I could think was how my friend could do this to me, how he could betray me like he did. Only a cold voice answered. He was drunk. Then I remembered the people around me. They knew. I snapped out of it and grabbed Danny by the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the restaurant, him blubbering all the way. I was angry, scared, humiliated; I didn't know what I was.
It was raining, big drops too. Pouring so that it sounded like someone was jack hammering up the street. I kicked open the door to outside as Danny passed out in my arms. I was tempted to just leave him out in the rain for the humiliation I would suffer upon going back in to the restaurant. Let him get robbed. I didn't care. I just wanted to leave. My biggest secret was out, exposed, revealed. A weakness. To this day, I don't know why I told Danny in the first place. I called his Dad and left Danny passed out on a bench under the Jimmy's overhang. I didn’t bother to check whether his dad ever came or not.
The restaurant was silent and it appeared to me that no one had moved. Forks were still halfway between the plate and people's mouths.
There was the kid with AIDS. Me.
My face was red, my apron damp from the rain, and my hair clinging to forehead. My girl didn't even glance at me while Murrieta refused to blink, like most of the restaurant's customers. Honestly, I wished they would just follow my girl's lead. My breath came quickly; I knew I had to say something. My voice cracked and I disappeared into the kitchen. It was seventeen minutes before I was able to go out and serve again. I knew because I stared at my watch the whole time; my dad's watch, the dad who expected his grandson to be named after him.
As I came through the kitchen holding a platter of steaming chicken, I found that only a fourth of the people still remained seated, the rest, gone. At first I just thought that they had finished their meals and left but as I walked through the aisles I saw uneaten, untouched meals on the tables, still steaming. Then I realized, it was me. They all left…because of me. What, why? I asked myself over and over. I had worked there forever and they just leave because of what a drunk went and babbled. No, I couldn't believe it. I walked over to two of our regular customers. I knew I could rely on them. Mr. and Mrs. Hambilton were loyal to Jimmy's, coming every Sunday night. Sliding the platter onto the table I asked with a forced smile, "Is there anything else I can get for you, Sir? Ma'am?"
Mrs. Hambilton looked at me and then back to her food, and then to me again and then her food before her eyes bulged and she shook horribly. Her chin bobbed up and down for a moment before she hunched over, clapping a chubby hand over her mouth and running to the bathroom. I stared after her, horrified, as her husband glared at me.
I left.
We lived in a small town. Word spread. Marc has HIV, Marc has AIDS. Marc has a STD. Most people didn't even know the difference. HIV was the diving board, AIDS was the pool, empty, without water, and I…I was the diver and here I am:
Splattered on the concrete.
I lost my job the following week. The restaurant's business had cut in half with me working there. Heartbroken and angry, my dad kicked me out of the house, though my mother protested. My friends, all of my good, wonderful pals that I would serve…laughing, making jokes, sneaking free fries, they all turned their backs on me. I was no longer Marc Fletcher, just another sickness. I dropped out of high school when I couldn’t take it anymore, the teasing, the pointing, the whispers, the bruises….no one would take me in and dozens of times I tried to leave. Sneak on a train to somewhere far away, but no. I couldn't. All I could possibly do was sit on the sidewalk and watch as time elapsed. My beloved Jimmy's became a fancy chain restaurant, my folks died, my friends married and grew up, had children named after their dads…
Things really changed after that day. I changed. I waved to people I knew and they just glared at me, hurrying way like I was some kind of plague, an infestation, a rat, a diseased rodent. They didn't understand what I had or what I was. I didn’t understand either. I only knew how people treated me. I didn't have big dreams, just little ones. But even so, a dream is dream and all of mine were crushed. I was crushed.
Weeks later, Danny approached me once, but Murrieta, his later girlfriend, made some quip and they fled, the stupid broad. I knew I could no longer count on Danny. I knew I was no longer a person, no longer human. I was just a pestilence, a sneeze, a cough, the flu that could be caught.
They didn't know.
Maybe they were not educated of my condition, maybe they just followed the crowd that was disgusted with me, maybe they just believed that a cut on my arm would brush against a paper cut on their finger and thus intermingling our blood and transferring the infection. Whatever caused the people I once knew and treasured to turn their backs on me, I will never know. My life will never be the same again. I am marked; no one will ever look at me the same. I am a target. I am different. I do not have a disease, I am the disease. I am the infection, as they call it now. And now I've eaten away at myself until they're is nothing. Nothing except a cardboard sign on the curb of Wendy's.
Maybe one day I'll get out of this small town hell-hole, maybe I'll flee and start a new life. But maybes can't sustain me, and I only know one thing: that I…
I am a mark.
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125,018 Literary Works • 672,861 Reviews
[quote=Kitty]My name is Marc Fletcher, and I am HIV positive. [Excellent first sentence. Just thought I'd congratulate you on that. But maybe 'My name was Marc Fletcher...' would work better? Because he's Mark now is he not?] [/quote]
No, his name is still Marc. Mark is just a play on words to what he has become. He has become a target for teasing and humiliation. You know, a mark.
Thank you Crysi and Kitty, this was just a mistake, not intentional.
I will certainly work on explaining this more; however, I felt I did an okay job portraying Danny as it was.
Danny may not care whether Marc has HIV or not, but everyone around them certainly does, it's an easy choice for Danny. Shun Marc or be humiliated as well. I think I will take your advice and try and find a way to clear that up.
~~~~~~
Crysi, your encouragement is unbelievable. Thanks for taking the time to look at nearly every single paragraph and comment about it.
Maybe this posting thing isn't so bad *rolls eyes and smiles*
I will edit tonight and tomorrow morning and hopefully have the finished version done by midday tomorrow.
EDIT: Well, i was done editting it midday yesterday anyway...it's posted now. The final is at the top.
Hey Lil Dono!
I'm finally getting around to reviewing everything I promised I would, though I admit I'm going a bit out of order by reviewing yours first. I've been looking forward to this for quite some time. ^^
Now, to start off, I'd like to say you're just as bad as your brother when it comes to putting your work down. Don't do it! This... this is impressive, no matter what your age. I wish I could write like this!
Anyway. Not sure if I'll make many (or any) actual corrections here, but I'll do what I can. Just know that this is one of my favorite reads ever on this site. And I've read a lot.
Oh, and I apologize if I echo anyone else -- I don't like reading other critiques; I'd rather give an unbiased review.
VERY strong beginning. Straight and to the point, begins at the end... I love it.
Mm... This paragraph was a little wordy to me. As a reader, I was thinking, "Okay, too many names, too much information. Is this going to come up somewhere else?" But it doesn't. Still, I do like the point about never having a fourth or fifth Marc Fletcher.
And wow, I just caught the age there -- after reading the entire piece, this hits hard, that he's dealt with this rejection for what, 34 years? Goodness. Which brings up another point -- I haven't done much research on AIDS, so I don't know the specifics, but I do know it kills. Is there a general time period people live after they develop AIDS? Did he merely have HIV at the time? I think I'm thinking too much here; you're fine.
I want to talk about one of the sentences in there, though: "I can respect that, for I was named after my ol' man, and he was named after his; my full name is Marc Fletcher the third; however, I regret to inform you that there will not be a fourth, nor fifth, nor sixth." It's a bit wordy, don't you think? I've been playing around with it, trying to figure out how best to break it up. I think it makes the most sense if you make the part before the first semicolon its own sentence, then leave the rest as is.
Oh, and I'd capitalize "...And" in that last line.
In the second sentence, I'd put that first "was" in quotation marks, just to make it a bit more clear.
But this... this was one of my favorite paragraphs in the entire piece. You really paint the picture perfectly. I can almost smell the food, hear the chatter, see the smiles... Excellent. Definitely. Wow.
Another paragraph I love! My only suggestion: "I was actually happy to go to work; something I was able to say that none of my buddies had ever been able to." I'd change the semicolon to a comma, though I can see the argument for the semicolon.
Just had to tell you that I read the first sentence five times, and each time I thought it said, "I had made it." I only just now realized what it says as I was about to comment. Aren't you glad you have a dyslexic reviewer?
Again, great paragraph. You're really good at this, haha. And the first sentence? So, so true. And an excellent point.
Make sure to close the quotes on "Hey you three, how are ya?" And I'm not entirely sure you need the quotation marks around "winning smile," but it doesn't hurt to leave them in, either. And I LOVE the rant about the spelling of names! Just makes him that much more realistic.
Haha, very cute. Though in the last sentence, does "their" refer to the girls or the freckles? In my edit, I assumed you meant the girls, but I changed it to "she's" so it would be more grammatically correct. (You referred to "a girl" earlier in the sentence; thus, freckles show she's not plastic. Make sense?)
Aw, this paragraph made me giggle. Again, it's the small stuff I have to point out -- close the quotes on "hot stuff."
Hah, Danny makes me laugh.
I love the interaction between Danny and Marc!
I am in love with this. Normally I'm not a fan of writing dialogue as the characters speak it, but you've really made this work. I can see him kinda waving his hands about, slurring and grinning, with the girls glancing at each other... Brilliant.
I LOVE this sentence. It's amusing in the first part, and then suddenly serious. By the way, does "dose" translate to "those?" I know I really should not be correcting drunken speech, lol, but perhaps "dat" would work, too?
Oh my gosh. Brilliant The suspense, the terror, the... oh wow.
Was the repetition of "hacked off" intentional, by the way? I didn't understand it, but if you have a reason for it... I can see it as sort of a ramble, where he's reliving it and his emotions are overwhelming him.
I made a bad pun on my edit, something to do with overhangs and hangovers, but I won't share it here.
Powerful.
A couple nitpicks here... "Honestly I wish they would just follow my girl's lead." I'd put a comma after Honestly, and change "wish" to "wished," just to keep with the tense. (And really, that's the only tense problem I saw in the whole piece, so chill, haha.) Also, I'm not sure what to do with the last sentence. I'm tempted to leave it as is, but I'm also tempted to change the semicolon to a colon... I don't know. The punctuation just doesn't sit perfectly with me.
Just a little editing error -- "Is there anything else I can get for you/Can I get you anything else?" It's up to you to choose which one to use; both would work.
This... this made me want to cry. Made me want to grab Mrs. Hambilton by the shoulders and shake her until she understood that it's not something you can catch by someone touching a plate. Poor Marc... Poor Marc doesn't even begin to describe it.
Oh, and I almost forgot -- the second sentence repeats "before" twice. It's an easy fix -- you can just change the end to "and clapped a chubby hand over her mouth, then ran to the bathroom." Oops, just spotted something else -- I think the last sentence would flow better as, "I stared after her, horrified, as her husband glared at me." Again, just suggestions!
Wow. Really great metaphor. I'd use a period instead of the colon, though. And I think "Marc had HIV" should be changed to "Marc has HIV." Just to fit with the -- wait, I might take that back, seeing how you have it divided there... Nevermind. *laughs* He had HIV, and now he has AIDS. Got it. *thumbs up*
No apostrophe in "dads" at the end there. But jeez, poor guy... It's a side of society we don't see often.
(Perhaps a comma instead of a semicolon before "the stupid broad"?) The last two sentences... My favorite. Some of my favorite lines ever. Wow.
He's eaten away at himself... oh wow. So many beautiful, tragic ways that could be taken -- the disease is eating him away, the negative self-talk... Gorgeous.
This ending... wow. This entire story is heart-wrenching, and this clenches it.
Lil Dono, you are a BRILLIANT writer, and as I've told Dono, I will never forgive you if you stop writing, lol. Really. You have such talent! Never, never give up. Especially not with this story -- it's nearly perfect as is. One of the best pieces I've read on this site, by far.
You go, girl.
P.S. No, I didn't find his look back confusing at all. Quite clear, in fact, and you pulled it off nicely. It was a very nice effect.
Keep it up! (Or else...
Hello there! You have a very well written story here and I didn't have any trouble following Marc's reflections. In fact, I thought your change from present to past was very smooth. I really liked how it started and ended with the cardboard sign and the revelation of the name at the end. That was very clever.
I think that Marc is very well developed and he's a character that's immediately loveable and as such the reader feels pity for him but I think that the interaction with Danny could be improved a touch. Why is Danny so easily turned away from him later? Danny is obviously close with Marc, after all he knows his secret but has remained friends with him. So how does he feel when he's sobered up? And why is he so easily persuaded to abandon his friendship with Marc? I think you could delve a little deeper into that. Perhaps have Marc be the one to break that friendship; he has enough reason to do so and it might be a little more realistic.
Other than that, I have very few suggestions. Your piece is very emotive with a good variety of sentences and a strong morale. Here's a few specific comments -
My name is Marc Fletcher, and I am HIV positive. [Excellent first sentence. Just thought I'd congratulate you on that. But maybe 'My name was Marc Fletcher...' would work better? Because he's Mark now is he not?]
Personally I love freckles on a girl; shows [s]their[/s] they're not plastic.
I winked at her causing her to blush and unleash another chorus of giggling, not fake or annoying, but an innocent giggle, [Maybe semi colon here rather than a comma.] cute.
"Is can I get you anything else I can get for you, Sir? Ma'am?" [This just didn't make sense...]
________________________
Keep up the good work!
Wow, you guys. That helped, a lot. Thanks for taking the time to look at it for me ^.^
I don't know how soon I'll be able to work on it again. Usually I can't stand to look at a piece of finished work until a couple days after.
I'll run through it again, correct the typos and small things and then take some time to work on the big stuff.
Question though, I've had some people tell me that Marc looking back on his past was kind of confusing. Anyone feel the same? And if so, how can I make it clearer?
I really liked how you used his name at the ending. I also liked how you started off the story with him as his current self looking back. It roped me in to wondering how he got to be in this situation.
Couldn't find any tense issues. You used the present tense when referring to the present and past tense for the past.
As far as emotion goes, you did a good job as is.
If you think you need to improve, there are a few ways to go about it. Fore the sake of simplicity, I'll use this story of yours as an example. Here's one way to do it:
Think back to a time where someone found out something about you that you really wish they hadn't. Or if you have no such memory, go for something similar to it.
Seeing as there's not a big chance that your chosen memory is bigger or the same as having the fact that you have AIDS blurted out at your workplace, you might need to amplify it.
Not as in make the situation bigger and meaner, but as in take the emotion and magnify it enough to describe it.
Humiliation
betrayal
Shock
^^ All those things could be happening at once inside your character as Danny spills the beans. Describe them and show them happening to the character.
Later, Marc mentions his dreams being killed. Imagine wanting to be a vet since you were ten. While working on getting your last credit at the university for your degree, you're in a wreck or something else happens that crushes your hands. You can't use them, or if you can, not for precise surgical work.
Death of a dream. How would you feel in that situation? Granted, Marc says his dreams aren't big, but the death of a dream is still a death of a dream. As such, you should treat the death of his dreams like the are the deaths of his dreams. His life is ruined. He lost his job, his friends turned their backs on him, his own parents kicked him out. How does he feel?
That's one way of many to improve on the emotions. At the moment, it's good. It doesn't really need to be improved, but it could be, and there's no harm in doing so.
There were a few typos, but I'll leave them for you to hunt down. There were only a couple, so it shouldn't be too much trouble. Other than that, there's nothing really that I found to pick out. It was good. I agree with Snoink on not needing too much more. You did a good job as is.
So there you go!
Hi! Here are my comments:
try:I say 'was' because Jimmy's
Is "Lady" a name of a person? If not, this needs to be re-worded.
Do you mean: "hot stuff." I grinned
What s the explanation mark there for?
Why not "love"?
I think you did good with the tenses and had some strong emotions, so no problem!
Firearris
Hey, Lil Dono!
It's currently two-fifteen AM, and I have spent a good bit of my morning trying to formulate a response to this story. Mainly because it's really, really good. I'm not good at giving out compliments--an awful thing--and so I don't quite know how to tell you how much I really enjoyed this story. It was beautiful, short. The wordplay on the name was breathtaking. The characters really drew me in and I felt bad for Marc near the end.
The only problem was that it took you several paragraphs to convince me. Why? Probably in a past life I was some racist, sexist, bigoted jerk, and that curmudgeonliness has carried over a little into this one--I really, truly cannot stand Bleeding Heart stories. Stories that are supposed to Teach Lessons, to have a Positive Sobering Effect on Readers' Lives--stories that are supposed to make me feel ashamed for the actions of others.
You've got to provide for the fact that there probably will be other readers like me. We like our stories without the nostalgia, without the drama. We want it raw and crude and real.
You did a grand job of making me feel awful for what other people did to Marc near the end, but I wasn't feeling the same way at the beginning. At the beginning, quite frankly, I was thinking, "Heh, yeah. Go to the Mission."
Which is awful, and I shouldn't think that. But I did. Here's why--people don't react nearly the same way to AIDS today that they did thirty, fourty years ago. Back then, you'd get the disgusted people in Jimmy's. Today, you get a look of pity and condolences and prayers. If you survive, you get a bit on Oprah.
I saw a movie the other day entitled The Great Debaters. It's a really amazing, powerful movie about a black debate team in the thirties that overcame the odds to beat Harvard in a tournament. In one particularly horrifying scene on the way to a tournament, the team's car runs into a lynch mob burning a black man alive. Did I feel awful to be white? Oh, absolutely. But then, I watch the Tyra Banks Show, and some woman is complaining that white people won't look her in the eye at the mall.
Obviously, there is a big difference between the extent of racism and hate crimes today and before the Civil Rights Movement. It's why The Great Debaters wouldn't have made me cry in a modern context. Black people today can go to school and get jobs and live without fear of discrimination. People with AIDS today can do the same thing, if they are physically strong enough to do so. That's what you really need to shed some light on--the true awfulness of the situation then. Besides, if you set something in the past, very few people can call you out on discrepancies. ^_~
What was the point of this huge, long rant? I don't want to see Marc in a modern day context. I want to see him later that month in the bus depot, or hooked to an IV. I want to see him while he is still in danger, while he is still feared and is the object of disgust.
I want to see him in his element. And most of all, I want you to make me feel bad about what other people do to him--in the Good Old Days.
__
Thank you very much for the read, Lil Dono. Feel free to PM me if you have any questions or other things you want me to look at. ^_^
I've only skimmed this, but it looks pretty good! I'll definitely read through it later and give you a less lame critique when I'm more awake.
Just two things:
1) Don't worry about the emotion so much. Lack of emotion, as it looks like you have here, isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's when it's completely goopy that it gets messy.
2) As this has to do with HIV and AIDS, you should really really consider submitting it into a scholarship competition. A lot of focus groups will actually give you MONEY for college and high school and the like for writing a good story that deals with these harsh topics. And, since this, upon skimming, looked fairly exceptional, I would recommend putting it away and using it for when you have to go college. More money = awesomeness.
Anyway, I shall be back!